


Sweet and Sour

by TheFierceBeast



Series: Sweet and Nasty [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Come Eating, Crossdressing, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gordlock - Freeform, Gotham is for lovers, High Heels, Knifeplay, Lingerie, M/M, Masochism, No Blood, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shoe Kink, Trust, cutting off clothes, trampling (kind of), you're an animal Bullock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: “I’ll be back in thirty. Be ready?” Jim smiles as he hangs up the phone. Sure, there's still that flutter of nerves in his belly, but this time it's more anticipation than fear. This time he's sober, and Harvey's the one raiding the dressing-up box and Jim just has to enjoy retaining his dignity whilst Harvey gets his freak on. The thought of it – the uncertainty – has him almost running a couple of stop signs on his way back to Harvey’s place. Has him half-hard already, just with the antsy curiosity over how this will pan out.A sequel to ‘Cheap and Nasty’. More porn with feelings. This time, it’s Harvey in the frills.





	Sweet and Sour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feurio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feurio/gifts).



  
“I’ll be back in thirty. Be ready?” Jim smiles as he hangs up the phone. Sure, there's still that flutter of nerves in his belly, but this time it's more anticipation than fear. This time he's sober, and Harvey's the one raiding the dressing-up box and Jim just has to enjoy retaining his dignity whilst Harvey gets his freak on. The thought of it – the uncertainty – has him almost running a couple of stop signs on his way back to Harvey’s place. Has him half-hard already, just with the antsy curiosity over how this will pan out.

It's quiet when he lets himself into Harvey's apartment. He pauses, listens, then calls, "Hey, Harv, it's me. Alvarez and Grant came by with me to discuss a case. You don’t mind, do you?" He waits, smile tugging at his lips, until Harvey's voice calls cheerfully from the bedroom,  
"All good, buddy. They can tell me what they think of my new threads."

Jim shakes his head, exhales a chuckle. Discreetly adjusts his crotch. He's just grabbing a beer and heading for the couch, when Harvey emerges and Jim all but chokes on his mouthful. "Jesus Christ."

"Hey there, handsome. Lookin' for a date?"

Perhaps he might be, if he wasn't about to die from a combined fit of coughing and laughing. But Harvey doesn't bat an eyelid. Just poses, completely straight-faced and utterly shameless, draped against the doorframe, one arm raised, the other braced against his cocked hip. "You look..." Jim tries to speak, but can't quite manage it, breaking down again in helpless, eye-watering laughter. And it's OK, because Harvey's eyes are sparkling with fond amusement as he sashays over on towering heels that Jim cannot quite countenance that he knows how to walk in. 

"Ravishing? A vision of divine loveliness?"

"Something like that." He bites his lip, tries to hold the laughter in. He’s laughing because Harvey looks ridiculous and knows it. But he’s also laughing from the nerves that pluck at him because Harvey does not look _entirely_ ridiculous...

"Don't make me regret this, soldier." Harvey sashays in close, places a hand against Jim's chest, and Jim can feel it, warm, even through the layers of his shirt and undershirt. He gazes up, into Harvey's eyes. In those heels, Harvey positively towers over him: Jim's dick starts to stir, that lovely, coiling tension in his groin. "Well? Do you like it?"

Jim glances down again, down the length of their bodies, stood so close together. Him buttoned up all professional and neat in his suit. Harvey… He swallows, thickly. "It’s... something else, alright."

It's like nothing he was expecting. And Jim will own up that he's not exactly the most imaginative guy when it comes to - well. Anything outside of detective work, if he's honest. Still, if he'd been expecting _anything_ , it was something along the lines of his own costume-party effort.

This is pink.

Harvey's wearing a soft-looking pale pink, the colour of rosebuds in an apology bouquet. The fabric is sheer, wispy as smoke, gathered into voluminous folds as it falls straight down from silky ribbon shoulder straps into a... little _dress_ -thing, Jim guesses, that ends in ruffles just around his hips. It's just see-through enough to offer coy, teasing glimpses of what he's wearing underneath. Panties, of a matching colour. Garter straps - more than the usual amount – he counts six around each leg, fitting snug against pale skin. The blood rushes in Jim's head, loud. Throbs between his legs so that he feels suddenly dizzy. Garters, holding up sheer black stockings that contrast sharply with the sugary pink. And those heels, black, and shiny as a switchblade.

"Gonna need a bit more from you than that, Jim." Harvey murmurs. And it strikes Jim that maybe this isn't all about him, even if Harvey makes it feel like it is. Maybe Harvey's out of his comfort zone too, in need of reassurance.

"You look... nice." His voice rasps, undone already. _Nice? Jesus, Gordon_. " _Very_ nice." He tries again, choking on the words, his eyes wide.

Harvey's smile is pleased, though. The tone of Jim's voice is conveying a lot more than what he’s saying, even he can hear that. And the thing is, the words are... Harvey doesn't look _nice_ , not exactly. The colour is wrong on him. Too pastel. It clashes with the bright warmth of his hair, washes him out, makes his pale skin look even paler than usual, in a way that's not entirely flattering. The sweet frills and bows don't make him look more feminine, they just emphasise how absolutely masculine he is, thick and heavy-muscled beneath all that softness, broad chest and tattooed biceps, the full curve of his belly. And, Jim realises, it's that contrast that's making his breath quicken. " _You look sexy_." He says it before he can think himself out of it, the words tumbling from him, rough and a little desperate. Notes the way Harvey's eyes go kind of sleepy at that, the lids lowering, his lips parting. 

"Go on." As Harvey says it, he gives Jim a gentle push, so he sits down, heavily, on the creaking sag of the couch. Harvey's towering over him like this and Jim feels... he's not sure. Small. Weirdly vulnerable, although how can that be when it's Harvey half-naked in a humiliating outfit, hands on his hips, smiling like the cat that inherited the whole dairy?

It's easier to see him, now. To get a good look, really take in what he's wearing. The blinds are shut as usual, the dim light cast blue from the neon sign above Harvey's makeshift bar. Cocooning. Obscuring. Jim loosens his tie, suddenly short of breath. The glimpses of what Harvey's wearing under the sheer top are agonising. It all looks so well-fitting, like it's made for him - maybe it was. There's no awkward fallout like with the underwear Jim mail-ordered. The panties Harvey’s wearing hug him in all the right places, every curve. High waisted, sheer. He's completely covered, but the fabric is so flimsy that even through several layers Jim can still see everything, shamelessly exposed: the sandy curl of Harvey's pubic hair, the fat, sleepy length of his cock. He's not hard, and a jagged stab of shame runs Jim through, even as his hand goes, instinctively, to his own dick, stiff and aching, begging to be touched.

Harvey's eyes follow the movement. His voice is low as he asks, "Tell me. What do you wanna do to me right now?"

Jim’s thoughts freeze. "I... Don't..."

"You don't know, or you don't wanna say it out loud?” Harvey’s voice slinks lower, a sultry drawl. “C'mon boy-scout. I know you're not _that_ lacking in imagination. You want it alright. You try so hard to keep that respectable veneer all polished up, but I know you, Jim. I know you better than you know yourself."

Jim closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "Then what do I want?"

"You wanna let go. You wanna let go and lose control."

"I want to..." His gaze is magnetised to the shift of Harvey’s hips, the sway of pink chiffon.

"Mmhm?"

God’s sake, he can feel his face heating up already, the addictive shame as his psyche is revealed. "I like your shoes." He blurts out.

Harvey bites his lip. The panties he's wearing are so close fitting that Jim can see the twitch of his cock beginning to swell. "Keep goin', Casanova."

"I want to... Feel how they feel... I mean, I…” 

"What do you mean?” Harvey rests his hands on his hips, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a way that has Jim suddenly, inexplicably, desperate. “Tell me _exactly_."

" _Push me down_." The words barge out like he’s been dosed with truth serum again, his skin crawling at the admission that feels forced, even though it’s voluntary.

Harvey exhales, a long blissful breath that sounds relieved. "That's the stuff, champ." And one of those shiny, lethal heels is planted centre to Jim's chest, pinning him abruptly against the back of the couch and it's not the sudden pressure that has Jim barely able to breathe. "Like that? You like that?”

Fuck. He does. He really does, so why this feeling of rising panic? He’s white-knuckling against the couch cushions, feeling ready to black out with the sheer enormous, confusing overload of… what? Getting what he wants? _Admitting_ what he wants? The hard pressure against his chest twists a little, and Jim blurts an involuntary, animal noise, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing through his nose.

“Jim..?”

"God... Harv, this is... weird..." Damn it, his voice is so embarrassingly broken.

"We live in Gotham, and this is where you draw the line?" Harvey shrugs, but withdraws his foot, with an unexpected amount of grace that is affecting Jim in ways he could never have predicted. The look in Harvey’s eyes is disappointed, but his tone is still affectionate enough to warm Jim through. "You OK, buddy?"

It's not fair. Jim frowns up at him, Harvey in his stupid outfit, always putting so much on the line for him, because the problem isn't that Jim isn't into this. The problem is that he _is_. And Harvey's not wrong when he says he knows Jim better than Jim knows himself. Why can he never just _let go_?

"I think I need to be drunk for this."

"Hey, don't sugar-coat it, Romeo. Here." Harvey hands him back his beer. "I'll go slip into something less unsightly and we can order some takeout. Catch a movie. Whaddaya say?"

"Don't-" Harvey hesitates, Jim's hand on his thigh. The feeling of soft, sheer nylon beneath his palm is distracting. "I want to. I'm just... not very good at this kind of thing."

"I'd not noticed."

Jim laughs, softly, in spite of himself. He ghosts a hand up Harvey's inner thigh. Trails the back of his fingers lightly across his crotch and feels Harvey's wilting hard-on stiffen again, trapped beneath tight chiffon. Harvey shudders out a breath that makes Jim's belly churn. Closes his eyes and pushes into Jim's too-light touch. "I'd do anything for you, Jim. Anything."

"I know." He does. Sometimes it's stifling. But mostly it's warm. The only real warmth he feels in this city. This life. But now... it's heady, this feeling of power, of promise. All this trust Harvey is placing in him is giving him the reckless urge to trust him back, to give him more than Jim can spare. To give him everything, and disregard the risk. "Will you..." He swallows. Closes his eyes and braces himself, his voice coming out low and unsteady. "Will you push me down again?"

The press of that shiny black heel is gentler this time. More cautious. When Jim risks opening his eyes, Harvey is gazing at him with an open fascination that makes Jim squirm, an insect pinned to a board.

The view is something else, though. Harvey's never seemed exceptionally coordinated to him, but his balance on these heels is impeccable. He has nice legs, too, Jim realises. Shapely; not too skinny or too muscled, although the height of the shoes makes his calves tense beautifully. Smooth, too. He's evidently not shaved for these stockings, but his body hair is so light anyway that it's barely visible under the sheer stretch of nylon. It _is_ visible though, the flattened curl of it. Somehow it makes this better. Filthier. Jim leans his head back against the couch and wills himself to breathe slowly, and feels the pressure against his chest increase, slightly, steadily.

“Is _that_ good?” Harvey whispers.

“Yeah.” It’s more breath than word. Jim’s dick is _throbbing_ , so hard he can feel himself getting wet. He’s not even been touched there yet. Harvey twists his ankle, elegantly, as if he’s grinding out a cigarette filter, and just the constrictive pressure of Jim’s clothes against his hard-on feels suddenly enough to bring him off. “Harvey, please don’t stop…” The dull pressure against his breastbone increases, the tip of that shiny heel digging in just so, right there between his ribs, where he’s most soft and vulnerable. Jim can’t help the moan that escapes him.

“Tell me.” It’s strange, Harvey’s face almost blank of expression, his eyes dark and intense, every ounce of his focus on Jim. It’s at once unsettling and really, really hot.

“Can I touch you?” _Why’s he asking permission?_

A sudden shyness consumes him, heats him, as Harvey says, “Nuh-uh,” and drags his foot a little ways downwards and Jim moans again, this time so high-pitched it’s almost a whine. “Well…” The point of Harvey’s heel digs into Jim’s belly, vicious and exciting, just above his belt, and Jim’s stomach muscles tense, reflexively. “Maybe if you’re a very good boy.” Massaging the toe of his shoe against Jim’s abs, slow little circles, the heel clicks against Jim’s belt buckle and Jim is panting now, his hips rocking in slight, involuntary thrusts. The patent leather of those shoes is so shiny he can see his own distorted reflection in it, wide-eyed and ruined and, fuck, it’s humiliating and oh God, he is so close to just coming in his pants right now… “ _Stay_.” Jim gasps in a disappointed lungful of air as Harvey withdraws his foot. Sits, obediently motionless, every muscle thrumming with tension as he follows Harvey’s path with his eyes, magnetised to the flashes of pale skin between his garter straps.

Harvey saunters over to the sideboard, and Jim’s chest flutters. He’s familiar with Harvey’s habits and quirks, now. Knows that he keeps his weapons cache in the Whammy Drawer, like anybody else would stash batteries and rubber bands and screwdrivers. Knows, also, what he keeps in the drawer below it, and that they’re next to one another precisely to make any nosy acquaintance feel awkward for snooping. The Whammy Drawer and the Sugar Drawer… sometimes the contents cross over… Jim swallows, hard, his throat thick. And Harvey opens the bottom drawer, the one with the toys, but what he pulls out is a switchblade and Jim’s belly _squirms_.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” The couch dips as Harvey places a knee next to Jim’s thigh, then the next one, so he’s straddling Jim’s lap, placing the knife on the cushion beside him. Jim clenches his fists and leans his head back and manages a stilted nod.

It’s driving him _crazy_. Harvey still _smells_ masculine, the clean scent of his cologne starting to warm with arousal. The weight and warmth of him in Jim’s lap is maddening as he slowly tugs Jim’s tie from its knot, sets to work on his shirt buttons at a leisurely pace. “Oh, you’re gonna be so good for me, baby.” Jim shudders as Harvey pops the last button, roughly tugs his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants and yanks it wide open, leaving it spread. He picks up the knife again. Sets the point of the blade to the hem of Jim’s undershirt: Jim makes a small noise of surprise and protest, and then the blade is at his throat.

Jim can _feel_ his eyes widen, every hair on his body raise, and god, the worst thing – the _worst_ thing, when his trusted partner unexpectedly holds a blade to his neck – is that he’s never been so aroused. It’s sick. It’s shameful. It brings up way too many terrible memories. And yet… Jim looks at him. Harvey’s hand is steady, his eye-contact, too. When Jim leans into the blade a little, Harvey withdraws it, just a little, so that it only touches Jim’s skin, but never digs in. “Are you gonna be good?” Harvey repeats, softly. A surge of adoration shivers through Jim, too many feelings all mixed up in lust. He tilts his chin, moves so that Harvey withdraws the knife. He watches Harvey’s reaction from beneath lowered eyelashes as he sticks out his tongue, licks a wet path along the blade. “Jesus…” Harvey’s voice is _raw_ – Jim feels a momentary burst of pride that he’s got him off kilter. “You are _perfect_.” Then Harvey’s lowering the blade again, ignoring Jim’s grunt of protest. “Quit your squawking, I’ll buy you a new one.” The tug as he slices smartly through the hem of Jim’s singlet goes straight to Jim’s crotch, and then Harvey’s put the blade away, set it aside, so he can grab a double handful of white cotton and rip, mercilessly, tearing Jim’s shirt up the front until he’s spreading the torn halves, running his hands over Jim’s bared chest, thumbing at his nipples.

Jim shivers. His heart feels like its pumping overtime. Too intense. Every little touch is making him moan. Harvey’s hands move lower, deftly unbuckling his belt, yanking open his fly and dragging his pants and underwear down roughly, just enough to expose his cock. He holds his breath as Harvey stands up to assess his handiwork. Bites his lip, his hips canting, as one of Harvey’s hands drifts to his own groin, pressing lightly through layers of pink frills. Harvey tilts his head, eyes heavy-lidded. “Yeah. You like this, alright.”

The feeling of a spike heel pressed against his naked flesh is very different from when he was protected by clothing. Utterly defenceless, at Harvey’s mercy. Harvey’s weight shifts, pushing, and Jim feels a jolt of something that’s almost fear but makes his cock throb anyway. “Harv-”

“It’s OK, baby, I got you.” That shiny heel drags, scores a blunt path across his flexing belly and Jim trembles, helpless.

“How can you even… balance in those…” He’s breathless. Can’t catch his breath.

Harvey tilts his head and smiles. “I learnt from the best.” And Jim closes his eyes again briefly, doesn’t even bother to hold in the groan, at everything that implies. “You just gotta trust me.” Jim sobs out a breath as the pressure changes again, steady but firm against the left side of his ribs, the press of the sole such a different sensation to the bite of the heel. He glances down, head spinning at the sight of pale pink welts across his chest, the little red divots pressed into his skin, his cock bared so starkly like that, untouched and dripping and desperate. He digs his fingertips into the couch cushions as Harvey moves his foot again, delicately dragging ever downwards, weight balanced against Jim’s belly, toe circling against his navel. “You look gorgeous right now, Jim. All mussed up.” Jim’s gaze flickers powerlessly, between the foot now pressed against his abdomen, and Harvey’s face. “Makes me wanna touch myself. Jack off all over you. You’d like that, huh?” His face must say it all, because Harvey’s touching himself. Rubbing with the flat of his palm through sheer silky stuff, and as much as Jim aches to touch him right now, the show is turning him on too much for him to do anything but let Harvey have his way with him. At the first touch of cool patent leather against his cock, Jim starts babbling, the type of moans and gasps and _yes please oh god please_ ‘s that he always tries so hard to keep inside. There’s no chance, not now. Harvey lifts his little sheer skirt up with the kind of teasing that suggests practice. Pushes his panties down just enough to slip his hard-on out over the waistband and start jerking himself off, fast and ruthless, chest heaving and lips parted. And Jim is so sure he’s going to come just from this. The sight of Harvey, so worked up, the shiny, lethal heel that’s toying with his dick and it’s almost enough, so painfully close…

“Yesss… Jim…” The heavy patter across his belly as Harvey comes makes Jim catch his breath. And Harvey looks incredible, eyes narrowed and mouth open in bliss, breathing hard, his hand slowing and stilling, eking out every last dreg of pleasure before he tucks his dick back into his underwear and – Jim draws in a shuddering breath – sucks his fingers into his mouth, chasing the drips over his knuckles with his tongue, cleaning himself off. Harvey fixes Jim with a considering look, the high colour in his cheeks now somehow complimenting the blush pink of his slutty little outfit. “Look what you did.” The toe of his shoe nudges Jim’s erection, stroking firmly up and down the length of it, as the point of his heel grinds dangerously close to Jim’s balls. Jim looks down, dumbly obedient, to where the gloss of patent leather is streaked with splashes of come. “You made a mess.” His voice is sending electric pulses up and down Jim’s spine, as he gazes at him like he’s dessert. “You know what to do.”

“Harvey…” He feels like he’s falling, and there’s no safety net. It’s like a dream as his fingers encircle Harvey’s ankle, steadying him, as Jim leans down, sees his reflection all too clearly in the mirror shine, as he pushes out his tongue, and licks.

“Oh, yeah, Jim… yeah…” It’s easier after the first leap, self-consciousness melting away under the heat of Harvey’s praise. “Good boy… so freakin’ good… that’s right…” It tastes bitter, the heavy tang of come at the back of his throat, the odd dryness of polished leather, but Jim suddenly can’t get enough, tonguing deliriously, one hand sliding up Harvey’s calf. “Yeah, that’s it… get every spot… damn, baby, you’re so hot…” Jim tilts his head, drags the flat of his tongue up the length of that shiny spike heel, pressing a kiss to Harvey’s ankle at the top. Feels Harvey’s hands, one on his shoulder, one against his hair, coaxing his head up, so he lets Harvey’s foot go and looks up at him, blinking dazedly for a couple of seconds, until Harvey’s on him, cradling his face in both hands and kissing him deep and urgent, tongue pressing slick and forceful into Jim’s mouth.

“God, Harvey.”

“I think you earned this.”

“Oh, God…” He can’t control the buck of his hips as Harvey sinks down onto his knees between Jim’s spread legs, with a bare fraction of the finesse he’s exhibited all night. “Harvey!” Shit, he’s certain the neighbours must have heard that one… he can’t help it though, not when Harvey puts his mouth on Jim’s dick, hot and sloppy, all little wet noises and groans like he’s making out with it.

He puts one hand, tentatively, on Harvey’s head and Harvey murmurs “Yeah…” sticks his tongue out to lap at the head of Jim’s cock like it’s a popsicle, sucking just the tip in to the tight heat of his mouth. The harder Jim holds him in place, the more enthusiastic he gets. Jim’s other hand on his head, fingers winding into his hair, and Harvey goes down on him properly, taking almost his whole length so suddenly that Jim moans, loud and ragged. He'd never have contemplated this with any previous partner, but Harvey just seems so... sturdy. So _willing_. Jim's fingers tighten in his fistful of silky hair and he pushes harder, deeper, feels as much as hears Harvey's shuddering moan, vibrating around his cock as the mind-fritzing pressure of suction around it increases, as Harvey takes him right down to the root and Jim bites his lip against a groan of pleasure. Harvey looks wanton, on his knees. Sweet little pink satin bows across his broad, freckled shoulders. Hair in disarray, cheeks flushed and wet and... an icy jolt of guilt shakes Jim from his daze and he tugs at Harvey's hair to get him to pull off. The guilt grows at how hot he looks, how Jim's dick throbs to see him, mouth soft and wet, panting, his lips pink and swollen,  his blue eyes dark with want and bright with tears.

"Why'd you stop?!" Harvey's voice sounds ruined, breathless, and that's not helping either.

Jim's dick twitches again, helplessly, and he says, "You're crying."

"My eyes are watering 'cause you're pounding my tonsils!" Harvey says, and Jim can't quite work out if he sounds indignant because of the treatment, or the fact Jim stopped.

"And that's... good."

"It's good, putz. If I want you to stop you'll know about it. Now - harder. Pull my hair."

Jim closes his eyes for a second, willing his orgasm to wait. “I feel selfish…”

“Ha, don’t. Just now was for you. This is for me. Now shut up and let me suck your dick in peace.”

His muffled moans when Jim comes are nothing short of beautiful. The tightening of his fingers on Jim’s thighs, the blissful look on his face as he swallows, are beautiful, too. It seems to go on and on, now Jim’s finally let go, reached climax, waves of euphoric feeling rippling across his skin. Harvey carries on sucking for a minute, as Jim twitches in afterglow, nuzzles his cheek against Jim’s belly, then lets his softening cock slip free and plants breathless kisses across his hips, his thighs. “Oh, baby. Oh, damn, you do me so good. That was amazing.” His chest is still heaving, under the ridiculous pink ruffles, as he shuffles to a seated sprawl on the carpet, back against the couch. A daffy, dazed grin plastered across his face. Jim reaches out a tired hand and strokes the hair back from Harvey’s forehead and his heart squeezes as Harvey leans into the touch, reaches for Jim’s hand and presses a bristly kiss against the inside of his wrist.

The questions are always there in his eyes: Harvey doesn’t ask him, though. Just acts. Shows his understanding through every touch. Every silence. Shows his _love_ , Jim thinks, his own eyes suddenly burning with it, and now he knows the difference between the kind of tears you stop play for, and the kind of tears this play _is_ for.

"So whaddaya think- will I get a gig at Sirens?"  
Harvey’s eyes are so bright. He looks happy. Jim can feel the grin spreading on his own face, bigger and bigger.

"With that figure?" He shakes his head. "I doubt it. You're too pretty: the management couldn't stand the competition." Harvey laughs, loud, his head tipped back against the couch, hair spilling around his shoulders, and Jim just wants to kiss him all over again. "Wait. You're missing one thing." Harvey cranes his neck to watch him. Jim returns, dumps Harvey's hat onto his head, and has to laugh again. Harvey pushes it to a rakish angle and beams up at him.

"I knew there was something I'd forgotten."

When Jim sits back down, Harvey joins him on the couch, wraps an arm warmly around his shoulders. "C'mere." The TV fizzes to life as Harvey clicks the remote. Kicks off his heels and crosses his stockinged feet at the ankle on the coffee table. 

"You're not going to get changed?" Jim pulls together the torn halves of his own ruined undershirt, then gives up and leans into Harvey’s side, all solid reassuring heat. Feels him shrug.

"Eh, later. I'm comfy."

Jim cannot disagree.  


**Author's Note:**

> Undernegotiated kink, because can you imagine either of these two actually talking about this stuff? Nope, not even when they’re in a relationship. Thanks to Feurio for all the discussion, and thank you to anyone who reads this, especially the commenters x


End file.
